


Papa

by oREDACTEDo



Series: Operation SMUT [1]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M, Foreplay, Hotel Sex, One Night Stands, Reader-Insert, Romance, Sex, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oREDACTEDo/pseuds/oREDACTEDo
Summary: Months ago, Mr. Senaviev was kind enough to offer to teach you Russian.  Being one of Six's more reliable representatives you felt it was your duty to master as many languages as you can.  So, you accepted wholeheartedly.  It was during a ceremonial event held for Rainbow that you managed to spend some quality time with him, but he discovers your insecurities in speaking his native language.Good thing he's more than willing to throw in a reward system to your little study session.





	1. Hands-on Learning

**Author's Note:**

> Two part with how long it turned out. He's one of my top three defense operators to play for, so I figured why not!

It was by a sliver of a chance that you had the rare opportunity to work with the most elite members, all from the vast selection of militaries that RAINBOW had under its belt.  Then again you were modest in your affairs, much to Six’s incredulity.  You had known the woman for some time now, almost long enough to consider her more than just an acquaintance.  For the sake of business, however, you two were far from friends.  Still, she saw no one as befitting for the job as you, and when you were tempted to decline she only _insisted_ on how _suited_ you were.

Maybe it was your age, you thought.  Over thirty years in the NSA and having previous affiliations with RAINBOW there was no doubt that you, the forty-year-old ex-marine, had experience.  Seasoned, even.  Not that your position was very important.  Nothing like a Deputy Director.  A representative for the United States in direct line to NATO wasn’t a soft position, though. 

Still, you were self-effacing about the whole ordeal. 

Debriefings, onboarding, recruitment scouting: a clear majority of that was your doing.  You, alongside many others, helped decided just which special operatives were perfect for RAINBOW.  You didn’t coordinate anything particular in terms of missions.  Hell, you didn’t even tell any of them what to do.  You just found the men and women best suited for serving. 

Yes, a plethora of that seemed very complimentary to your image. 

The amount of disappointment you felt when you went to a debriefing with several other foreign representatives still haunts you to this day.  Most of them were rather fluent in multiple languages.  You, not so much.  Spanish was something you were accustomed to since your father’s veins ran with Spanish blood.  French was easy to learn because of the similarities, though all you could hold was a basic conversation.  Anything else and, well, your knowledge there was barren.  Not that you should be ashamed—English was generally the spoken language for those occasions.  You always were an over achiever.  Honestly, everyone in such a terribly stressful field must be. 

Your relationship with the operators was stable.  It was of high regards, merely because of respect.  You were an assistant of Six, per say, and would have been a soldier amongst them were it not for your injury years prior.  Still, a good number viewed you like a superior nonetheless, while others didn’t really mind you all too much.  You had taken a liking to the Americans for obvious reasons.  While most of the foreign soldiers had their own quirks and sets of skills, one in particular always gravitated towards you. 

Tachanka and you weren’t a special case at first.  Often the two of you had conversations about many topics.  Homelands, food, how the day went, and other things that could have easily been deemed pointless.  He seemed thrilled when you presented some knowledge in old era weaponry (your favorite gun in your private collection being your M1 Grand after all).  It was then that he showed you videos on his phone of him showcasing his Soviet Era collection he had managed to put together over the years.  On occasion you commented on how much you’d love to fire any sort of Degtyaryov or Mosin-Nagant, both of which were in his ownership.  And on all occasions, he offered to one day take you back to his country to hear them “ _sing”_ as he worded it. 

Then came the day where you gingerly told him how much you wished you could speak even a hair of Russian.

_“I can teach you if you’d like.”_

Senaviev’s offer was flattering.  You saw him several times throughout the year, and during those times you would practice whatever lesson he had put together for you, whether it be on the helicopter to a sight or for an hour in the loading area as he polished his guns.  School wasn’t out of the question, and nor were those language kits, but he claimed that learning from a _real authentic_ _teacher_ would get your results faster.  Truly, it was beyond generous.  You weren’t sure why he’d offer.  You would think he was kind, but you’ve heard him say some of the more incredulous things when irked (most of which you and Thermite had to get between him and whoever it was the Russian was provoking). 

Perhaps it was because you were a woman that he gave you such special treatment?  Who knows.

There was a small pop up on your personal computer.  No one ever used AIM anymore, but the severs were still up, and for work purposes you avoided social media sights like the plague. 

_Senaviev: Zdravstvujtye._

Russian words looked so strange with English characters.  Regardless, you pursed your lips before responding appropriately, and at a fair speed.  It still was quite the breather to say just a simple hello.  You were so used to the five-letter word—so used to how informal most Americans really were.  The dots formed, indicating he was responding, most likely on his phone. 

_Senaviev: You are getting faster.  That is good._

_You: I should be thanking you.  You’re an excellent teacher, even though your time zone is very different from Arizona._

Flattery will get you nowhere, but you were trying to be honest. 

_Senaviev: I am only two floors from you, you know._

You could hear the sarcasm in those words he sent you.

_You: I was referring to when you aren’t two floors below me, Mr. Senaviev._

Tired eyes glanced to the left, spotting all your paper work from today’s international meeting.  Award ceremonies were always held to the highest of regard, much like the soldiers that constantly risked their lives on the battlefield for the sake of countering terrorism that they were thrown for.  All that hard work didn’t mean you got to get a pin yourself.  Not that it mattered, you have you share of pins already.  Regardless, while the operators waited for shit to hit the fan, you had much work to do.  With how discrete everything is for the sake of protecting RAINBOW and its NATO affiliates that only meant more work.  Another ding chimes right when you were about to shut off your laptop.

_Senaviev: Call me Alexandr._

Rarely did he message you so familiarly.  In fact, he never really did.  Tachanka wasn’t much of a talker when it wasn’t necessary.  Right now, it wasn’t necessary.  At least to you it wasn’t.

_You: Did you need something?_

_Senaviev: What makes you think this?_

_You: Just an assumption.  It isn’t our usual time for a study session._

A minute passes, and you figured he had went back to whatever he was doing.  You were wrong as your laptop’s speakers made another small chime. 

_Senaviev: We may have one if you’d like.  I do not mind._

Eyes glance at the clock: 19:30.  Finding it a little too late for a study session, you couldn’t help but stare at the line of text perplexingly.  Fingers drummed along the surface of your ASUS, your knuckles popping under the stress from all your relentless emails to Six and various other important participants.  Maybe you waited too long to reply for his taste, because he had already been typing yet again.

_Senaviev: It is not too late for me.  We rarely have opportunity for hands on experience._

A fair point—one that made your lips roll together into a thin, straight line.  Would visiting him this late in his hotel room be considered against policy?  Wasn’t this unprofessional?  Highly unprofessional?  Of course, it was, and with someone from another country no doubt.  But you were working ahead of yourself again, not giving yourself a moment for even a minute worth of a break, and you were quite behind on your Russian.  You weren’t intimidated by the man—at least you’d like to think you weren’t…

_You: You make a tempting offer.  Only for an hour.  I don’t want to keep you up._

He didn’t respond to that.  Digging through your papers you found the small college-ruled notebook that you purchased from a Walmart back home just for learning Russian.  It was no surprise how barren the halls were, given it was rather late.  You took the liberty of taking the elevator down to floors until finally you were at the 5th.  It was no different from the others—amber and cream floral wall art with flared accent.  It was an expensive place, as expected for such an event.  Not all operators were located here, though, only a few.  Tachanka being one of them. 

It was by change that you and he were placed in the same hotel, so you might as well take the liberty.  Approaching his room, you noticed that the door was pried open with at trashcan.  The urge to knock made the muscles of your arm stiff.  It didn’t feel right to simply enter without permission.  Though, why would he lodge it open like that other than to grant you access?  Shit—you always thought too hard about certain situations.  Pushing the door open it made a light shifting noise against the cream carpeting.  If that didn’t alert the occupant of the room, then the sounds of you shifting the trashcan to the side with your feet should have proved sufficient.  The door shuts, the lock clicking in place, and you instantly smelt the faintest scent of cologne.  Something woodsy and rich.  You rarely ever saw Alexandr outside of operation debriefings, and he was always cladded in gear or some sort of training uniform.  As you approached the end of the hall you took notice to him, his body lounging on his bed with his legs folded on top of one another.  As you expected, he was scrolling through his smart phone.  

Alexandr looks up at you and has yet to say a word.  You wondered if you looked appropriate.  You were always wearing some sort of fancy black business suit, but now you were in nothing but grey slacks and a black tank top.  Alexandr wasn’t any different.

“Finally.  You were taking so long I was about to pass out from waiting.”

You flashed him a smile, the man always being such a jokester with you.  With arms wide open he spoke rather bluntly.  “Welcome to my humble abode,” the sarcasm made you laugh again, his rich voice always made your muscles lax.  “Believe it or not but your room is nicer than mine.”

“What can I say?  They reserve the best for the best.”

He kicks himself up, his body instantly towering yours as he pulls a chair out for you at the nearby desk.  You sit without reluctance, though you felt a bit startled when he pushed you into position. 

“Oh my, such a gentleman,” you hummed, opening your notes upon the table.  He sits soon after, a smirk pulled over his lips.  “Of course!  What kind of man do you take me for, hmm?”

“Nothing bad I assure you, Alexandr,” you jest.

He assesses your work, an unreadable look on his face as he turned page by page.  “I was worried you did not have clean handwriting.  Good, this is all readable.”

“I admit I write slow.  I’m not used to all the characters.”

“Oh, do not worry.  You will be once I am done with you…”

Though your breathing didn’t stagger, you felt a little apprehensive to respond.  Something about that sentence was…off.  Dare say, you found it rather.  Well. 

Erotic.

But he didn’t pull his gaze from your notebook, nor did he say anything more about your handwriting, but he _did_ smile.  Maybe you were thinking too hard.  Maybe you were being the pervert.  Keeping your rather inappropriate thoughts to yourself, you waited patiently for him to finish whatever it was he was doing.  “This is good,” he sounded both pleased and surprised, his brown eyes locking onto you.  “How are you with speaking?”

Your shoulders must have visibly dropped, because you noticed him chuckle.  “Did you try?”

“I did with a few members from the Russian Administration earlier today.”   

“And how did that go?”

“They laughed,” you spoke dryly, unamused at the smirk that only grew wider on him.  Why was he smiling so much?  You weren’t sure, but his cackle only made you jab at his bicep.  An act you instantly regretted—his muscles were so firm that you felt your finger bend the wrong way a little. 

“Stop laughing!  I thought you said you were going to help me study.  Not ridicule me.”

You couldn’t help but sound playful yourself.  It was a nice change in pace from the professionalism, and Alexandr’s genuine enjoyment in your current affairs was oddly rewarding.  His wolfish grin didn’t leave him, but he did turn to face the table once again.  For a moment he stared, nothing saying anything, and that made you crane your head a bit. 

“Something wrong?”

He shook his head, “ _Net_ …just wondering if I changed the batteries on the recorder under this desk.  I was planning on playing your sad excuse of a Russian accent to a few friends back home to laugh over.”

“Alexandr!”

“Alright, alright.  No more games.  We will work now, da?”

“ _Da_.”

Twenty minutes of learning new grammar structures passed, and you were getting used to conjugations in the future tense when Alexandr decides to change it up a bit. 

“Verbal test?” you repeated his words.  He simply nods, his arms crossed as his muscular body leaned against the wooden chair.  Swearing it was going to break under his incredible weight, you couldn’t help but eye the frame of it for a second.  “You’re really throwing a curveball on me now.  Let me just check under this table for that recorder first...”

“That was a joke, don’t be so killjoy.  Besides, we learn lessons best when we least expect it.  How are you supposed to learn Russian if you don’t speak it ehh?” his argument wasn’t invalid.  Far from it.  Still, you hollowed out your cheeks as you let out a huff of hair.  Fingers reached up to scratch at your already messy locks, disheveling them further, and Alexandr seemed to only stare amused by this. 

Honestly, none of his fellow RAINBOW members have ever seen you so flustered about something.  You were always so relaxed and calm.  They all wondered what you were even like in the battlefield.

_“Kak proshol tvoy den?”_

Narrowing your eyes, you searched his face for the answer.  A scar here, a few age marks there, his jawline…nothing came to mind. 

_Awe shit, this is what happens when I feel pressured._

“Going informal, aren’t we?” you chuckled.  Tachanka leaned forward against the table now, his eyes never leaving yours, and you felt a bit anxious about that.  He was naturally so intimidating.  You’ve heard him curse out a man like a sailor, but worse.  Being here, in his presence, made you feel a bit small.  Damn, you must be rusty.  Nothing ever scared you with all the experiences you’ve been through (experiences you wouldn’t trade for the world given the field you were in, but still). 

“Eto ne Russkiy.”

“Prosti, Alexandr,” you mutter, pronunciation off.  Wincing at your terrible job, you glance to the side again.  But a warm hand was pressed between your shoulder blades, rubbing in small and soothing circles.  Your body moved with the motion, and he felt how tense you were there.  Knots in your back, you let out a groan.  “I told you I was bad at this.”

“Nonsense.  You will get better, _kotik.”_

Curiously you look at him, your tired eyes glinting a tad.  You never heard that word before.  “What does that mean?”

“Hmm?”

 _“Kotik._ What does that mean?”

He grumbles something, his free hand coming to scratch along the stubble of his hardened jawline while his other was still gracing your back.  “Nothing bad.”

“Alexandr.”

He was grinning again.  “I like how you say my name.” 

Jaw slack, you felt yourself gawking at his statement.  Was that an insult?  Or a compliment?  Tilting your head, you felt your bun shift a bit, and you chuckled under his rather teasing gaze.  “How am I saying it?”

“Like an American.”

Tachanka barely shifted from your playful nudge, his voice just a few decimals from roaring as the room fills with his laughter.  “It didn’t mean it bad, kotik!”  The chair squeaks as you shift your weight, your body swaying with his massaging motions while you  fought a yawn that desperately wanted to climb out.  “Welp, as cute as I may sound that doesn’t help me learn how to speak Russian any better.”

For a moment, Alexandr looked like he was thinking.  “…what if we put a reward system?”

His proposal made your eyes widen—reward system?  What did he mean?

“Sounds plausible, but I don’t see a cool RP-46 to fire if I do your language justice…”

The amusement in his eyes glinted just by a hair unnoticeable.  Leaning towards you, that wolf-like grin almost ripping at the corners of his mouth, he hunches low and more to your level. 

“True.  But there are other methods.  It may not have results now, but it will help you remember.  And if you enjoy it, we may do it more in the future.”

It appears that firing that light machine gun you’ve been craving to have hands on experience with wasn’t the only sense of reward on his mind.  There was something odd about the way he put that.  Something chiming in his voice, like an underlying tone you barely missed.  You, too, leaned forward against the table. 

“Are you implying something, Alexandr?”

“That depends.”

Oh, now he was being illusive?  It was quite the surprise coming from someone so brutally honest all the time.  You never expected the man to be pulling cards like these from under the table.  A smile pulls across your lips, though you weren’t sure why.  The awkwardness, suddenness, must have been the culprit.  “I didn’t take you for the illusory type.”

He shrugs, “What can I say?  Tachanka is full of surprises.”

Drumming your fingers along the table you lick your lips, an act that he eyes intently.  “Let’s say you are implying.  What would the reward be?”

A deep grumble rolls from his chest, and you could barely notice that it was him speaking.  _“_ Я ем эту симпатичную киску,” he motions towards you.  You frown instantly losing interest.  “You damn well know I didn’t understand a lick of that.”   Again, Alexandr was chuckling at you, his voice naturally gruff and deep.  “Hmm, never mind then.  Perhaps it is best we do something else, kotik.” 

Fingers snapped, silencing him, “Hold it.  You’re implying something, aren’t you?” 

Tachanka doesn’t answer, but that grin of his was shit eating.  Biting your lip, you lean back into his hand, disbelief displayed over every inch of your lovely face. 

“ _Wow_ …you must love trying your luck.  You’re daring as hell...”   

He frowns suddenly, “What?  Just because I’m old, you think I have no drive?  I’ll have you know I’m still a man…with much **_vigor_**.” 

You were still biting your lip, still snickering under the blush burning over your cheeks, and suddenly you felt twenty years younger.  Oh yeah—you almost forgot you were forty.   

“I’m confused.” 

He rose a brow at this, but your smile was flirtatious as your hand came up to run along the length of his thick arm.  “You call yourself old yet you’re so handsome.  A man like you could easily find someone younger _and_ prettier than me.”   

Alexandr’s face darkens just a hair, “Bullshit.  Are you saying I have bad taste in women?”   Another laugh fills the room—yours—and he was kneading deeply between your shoulder blades again.  “...I haven’t had any action in years,” you admitted, nipping at your lip subconsciously as your stared at your papers.  “I’m sure I’ll disappoint.  In both the Russian articulation and the…stamina department.”  He was laughing again, his hand lowering to the small of your back before massaging rather tenderly into that spot.  Almost instantly he finds a knot, and it makes you groan.   “ _I doubt that_ …” his voice was so low it made you shiver.   

Almost too quickly your heart started to pick up in pace.  Alexandr’s muscles were tense, his shoulders rung forward as his head hung low to give you that amused, oddly tender glance, and it was nothing like his stone-cold gaze.  Just earlier today he was waiting outside of the complex where the ceremony was held, unenthusiastically scrolling through a gun website in search of old soviet weaponry to bid on.  You had even asked him if he was enjoying his time, which he bitterly responded how jetlagged he was.  “What did this forty-year-old lady do to deserve such treatment?” you muse, your head leaning against your hand in such a way that he hums with my delight.   

“More than you know.  How about you let _papa_ show you how much a fifty-year-old man knows his ladies, eh?”  The chill demeanor was still there, but the warmth in his eyes was very drawing.  You smile at him playfully. 

“It’s been so long since I called someone _daddy_.”


	2. Hands-on Experience (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexandr implements that reward system...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad to see a good number of Tachanka lovers out there! I'll be writing Smoke x OC and Mute x OC fics soon, so if you're interested just keep an eye out on my Operation SMUT series! Enjoy.

Something Russian slurred through his lips in a dense fog of sultry pleasure.  Your legs quivered, clamping around him as tight as they could.  Your squeeze was surprisingly strong, but nothing compared to what he could do to you.   Speaking of what he could do—those hands of his were performing such _wonders._ He leans in, his lips pressing against the shell of your ear.  

**_“Kyo tvoy papochka?”_ ** ****

_Think…think…th…_

“Right there...,” you gasp when his thick finger curled ever so slightly, the spongey bundle of nerves pressed beneath his sweet digit making you quiver in his rented bed’s sheets.  Tachanka seemed eager to hit third base, though upon disclosing his exact _size_ , you weren’t sure if you could handle a man of his stature.  He said the foreplay should get you ready for his full width, so you swallowed your pride and spread your legs for him a little _too_ eagerly.  But shit, he was so brawns and husky and a flavor of man that you had never indulged in before.  You could feel your calf brush against his inner thigh, his erection seizing your attention with minimal effort.  He was so hard and eager that you your head was spinning.  Amid your daydreaming whilst writhing beneath his experienced touch he pauses suddenly.  So abruptly that it was torturous.   

“ _A_ - _Alexandr_ …d-don’t stop…”

He really did love when you said his name, because each time you did you noticed his back roll a little with anticipation.  You weren’t giving him the answers he wanted, the answers he was expecting for this little lesson he put together.  Lesson—how dumb.  You could care less for Russian right now.  Russian lesson aside, he couldn’t ignore how perfect you looked under him, though.  All slick with sweat and gasping for him.  “Say it right.  I will reward you if you do good, kotik.”

Biting terribly hard along your bottom lip you strive to search through your currently desolate mind to find the right context, the right wording, the right form…

_“Ty moy papa…”_

That didn’t sound too bad at all.  For a moment, you sounded rather authentic.  Approval rumbled in his throat.  A long, thick growl slipping between his lips as he hunches down to bite along your bottom lip a little _too_ roughly, making you giggle.  Something else in Russian slurs from him, but it’s all a blur to you.  His hot tongue is dragging along your body now, his teeth hooking along your top and tugging at the fabric.  A thumb traces a brutal scar along your leg, and he glances at it. 

“Where did you get this?”

In your daze you tried to catch your breath, “Oh…that old thing?  It’s nothing.”

“No more crap excuses.  I want to know.”

Propping up on your elbows you eye the scar nonchalantly, obviously having gotten over the war wound after all these years.  “It’s from an old mission years ago.  A small charge was hidden in a stairwell I was ascending.  It messed up the joints in my right knee.  It’s why I had to resign.  Team Rainbow was first assembled back then.  So, I was an operator at the time.”  Strangely enough he was engrossed in the scar, eyeing it for some time.  Appreciating it.  The touch he was giving it was gentle, memorizing the dips and curves and bumpy texture before he dips eagerly between your thighs.  Little did you know that Tachanka had great respect for you.  Much so, that it was one of the reasons why he approached you in the first place.  Not because he found you attractive (though he did at the time, and still did now to an extreme sense).  More so because he heard many things about you through others.  Your experience, your warm personality, the amount of respect you’ve earned over the years.    

A hot breath flashes your inner thighs, having no intention in teasing you as his mouth pressed along your wetness.  Not wanting to make too much noise you pressed a knuckle between your teeth, quivering at the sight of his rippled body buried underneath your slender legs.  Hands grabbed like a vice grip along your hips, his face pressing further, and Tachanka was feeding off you like he had been starved for days. 

_Not too loud…please…oh fuck…_

“Y-You’ve done this before…and here I thought I was special,” you teased.  Still, you could barely speak after, his motions not ceasing from your words.  Tachanka pulls back, the glistening sheen of your wetness coating his chin, and you couldn’t help but grow flustered at the sight. 

“Heh, I haven’t done this since I was enlisted in the Red Army.  You can imagine how long ago that was,” he cackled before diving back in.  You gasp, your head arching back as you plopped onto the mattress. 

“ ** _F-Fuck_** …then how are you so good at this…?”

He took the compliment graciously as his tongue circled around the most sensitive part of you, an approving hum vibrating into your core.  His actions were animalistic almost, and the more pleasure he was granting you and more excited you noticed him get.  By this point, Alexandr was rubbing himself against the mattress, the noisy sounds of groans and licks and smacks deafening.  You felt cold from the 60 degrees he set the room at, but his body was radiating like a furnace.  Warming you thoroughly, sweating and veined and bulging from all the arousal. 

A leg hangs over his back now, Tachanka slipping his middling finger between your folds before plunging it in.  And out.  And in.  You were tugging at his hair now, breathless at the fullness of him being knuckle deep.  Of being so rough and precise and experienced.

“I-I must admit…I wasn’t expecting you to t-treat me so well…”

“Better than my own guns.  I would be lying if I said I was not thinking about this for a while, ehh?  _Moy kotik_.”

“Is this what you meant by h-hands on experience?”

You barely noticed his toothy grin with how pressed up he was against your core, and almost instantly you realized how long he must have been planning this escapade.  Gripping his shoulders tightly you shivered, heat swirling in your insides as spots came to your field of vision.  “ _Oh…shit I feel like I’m gonna burst.”_

You didn’t want to yet, though.  Fingers drifted through his locks, Alexandr opening his eyes to notice you pushing him back.  He stares questioningly, but his suspicions dwindled into nothing when he watched you strip yourself of your shirt and bra.

Licking your mess from his face he was smirking, his rough palm coming up to dry his lips.  Standing on his knees, the mattress shifts drastically under his weight.  Pants tugged painfully against his member, the tent his was pitching being large; no surprise there for you.  You were grateful for the warning, at least.  Alexandr retrieves a condom from his pocket, tearing the seal between his sharp teeth.  “I want you on top,” he was undoing his belt with one hand, the other cupping on of your breasts, and he lets out an eager groan at how soft it felt in his grasp.

“I thought I told you my stamina was terrible.”

“I’m confident you’re wrong,” he strips himself of his pants before lying on his back, his cock thick and sprung upward.  You stared for a moment, unintentionally feeding into his already swelling ego, before you straddled just above him.  “No lube, love?” you ask, his hands coming up to massage your hips with fervency. 

He shook his head, a lusty look burning in his eyes.  “You’re already so wet.  I’ll slip right in with little effort…”

“I’m…not sure about that,” you were admittedly nervous, but Tachanka sits up to press his face between your breasts.  Gentle kisses graced your sternum, the sweet gesture surprising you, and he ruts up to slick the head of his eager cock along your wet entrance. 

“ _Kotik…pozhaluysta…”_

How could you deny after such an enthralled _please_ like that?  Resting your forehead against his broad shoulder you slowly let yourself sit, his hand guiding himself into your blistering heat.  A whimper escapes your lips at the foreign stretch—he was far bigger than his fingers ever were, but you have felt greater pain than this. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” his touches along your sides, possessive and groping and oddly passionate, blurring your anxious thoughts.  “You’re perfect.”  That made you laugh.  Whatever doubt you had was casted away with how patient he was being, how tranced he seemed at your body.  Raising your head up to take a deep, calming breath, you could feel the bridge of his narrow nose pressing along the crook of your neck.  He inhales deeply, his fingers working through your hair once you finally felt the touch of his hard hips along your sweaty thighs.  Completely sheathed into you he lets out a long, deep purr. 

“I…I’m sorry…I-I can’t move yet.”

That made him happy.  His chortle shows he had taken your struggle as a compliment.  Those hands of his returned to the small of your back, massaging slowly but with enough pressure to make you moan into the crown of his head.  “Mmm…move when you feel ready, kotik.”  Until then, he turns his attention to your breasts, your chest being leveled perfectly with his face. 

Reassurance was something he was surprisingly good at.  Never in your life were you spoiled like this.  The lesson had well been beyond an hour now, if you could still consider it that, in yet taking your leave was the last thing on your clouded mind.  You tensed your core, giving his cock a squeeze to test the water, and sure enough you still felt that painful sting.  Tachanka felt your hold onto him, his swollen cock twitching from the inside, and it makes your hips buck against his.  It felt good just as much as it hurt.  But you found yourself growing impatient for you body to keep up, especially with how much he had been lapping at your bare breasts hungrily, nosily.  Soon you were bouncing in a small and light rhythm.  Tachanka didn’t seem like the soft lover—you always assumed his drive could only match that of a wild boar.  But he moans into your thin neck, moaning _yes_ and _kotik_ repeatedly, his hips bumping up against you with an eagerness that was enticing just as much as it was adorable. 

“How do you feel?”

You didn’t speak, your lips parted as uneven breaths slipped between your soft moans.  Tongue running along his sharp teeth, Tachanka stares up at you with a fire in his eyes.  “Does it still hurt?” 

You stagger, a defeated look on your face.  “M-My bad knee is aching…”

Big hands grasp your face, pulling you into a kiss so firm and passionate that your mind drew blanks.  “You did so good.  _Now let papa take care of you_.”  He was driving into you now, his muscles tensing thrust after thrust into you.  You could taste tobacco and citrus when his tongue slipped between your lips, feel the rumble of your moan when teeth clattered together, and when your arms slipped around his neck to pull yourself close you noticed he was pummeling into you _harder._

“ _Ohhh, Alexandr_ …!”

“ _Mhmm_ ,” his lips were flushed along yourself, grabbing a handfuls of your bare bottom so he could angle you _just right._

“Does papa feel good?” he watches as you bit down onto your lip, your head nodding frantically.  “Oh _so_ _good_ ,” your smirk turns the rapture in his gut into a flurry.  With your face flushed and lips moistened with his own saliva he lets his back hit the mattress, your bare breasts pressed against his muscular chest. 

“Careful, you might get addicted to me,” he jests, feeling your lips against his, and he seizes you for another aggressive kiss.  On the brink of your orgasm you continued to dominate his lips with yours, his thrusts not once ceasing even after you finally cried into his mouth at you came.  Hand buried into your hair, he pulls you in deeper, tasting every inch of your mouth when finally, you felt his grip tighten, his body quaking beneath.  His perfect motions grew messy, and after several moments it was his turn to moan into your mouth as he came. 

You would have pulled away hadn’t he continued kissing into you, the hunger in him dying down into a much laxer make out session.  Finally leaning back, you gasp, your head spinning.  Every breath he made rose your body up and back down, your eyelids heavy as a wave of exhaustion overcame every inch of your body. 

In an effort to move your legs you noticed how sore your thighs were.  Body rigid, you instantly melt back onto him, all attempts fruitless. 

“Stay.”

That’s all he said.  Whether or not it was the best choice to make you still hummed in agreement.  “I don’t think I can walk even if I tried,” you mumbled into his neck.  Adams apple bouncing, Alexandr angles down just enough to rub his lips along your temple, commenting on how cute you were.  You wanted to take it as slander—you weren’t a child after all—but his body was warm, a stark contrast to the extremely cold air in his hotel room. 

The next morning you were stirred awake by 7AM, the sun shining brightly between the curtains.  Tachanka was absent, most likely having went downstairs for the free breakfast.  During your slumber he was kind enough to fold your clothes neatly and pile them on his desk.  You stood, wobbly, a smile gracing your face at how ruined your loins felt.  As strange as it seemed, it was oddly satisfying.  Again, you felt like a teenager, only because that was the last time you had indulged in such desires.  Fully clothed you cracked his door open to notice that the hall was empty.  You pressed the button for the down floor, intending on returning to your room, and waited.  Then you thought.

What was your relationship with Alexandr like now?  Surely no different.  A spur of the moment was common for men like him—men deprived of affection without a woman to return home to.  At least, you assumed he had no wife…oh God.  He didn’t, right?  _No, I’ve read his papers.  He put his status as single._ Amidst your momentary panic you heard the elevator doors swing open. 

“ _Kotik!_ ”

You gasp, Alexandr stepping halfway out to greet you with a cup of coffee in his hand.  “Trying to slip away, eh?” his voice was teasing.  “Got this for you.”

The coffee ignited your senses, and reluctantly you take it in your hands.  “Thank you…”

“Mhmm.  Go get something to eat, the food is _ehh_.  Okay.”  Hunching down his lips brush the shell of your ear, “ _After, maybe you can stop by my room again and we can continue our lesson, kotik.”_

Cheeks flushed, you let out a yelp when his big hand smacks your ass as he stalks away, using that last chance to throw you a cheeky grin while you slipped into the elevator.  To your horror, both Glazkov and Campbell were in there, having witnessed the whole ordeal.  There was an awkward silence. 

“…good morning, Mr. Glazkov. Miles,” you muttered, embarrassment lancing your tone.  Glaz hums in response, his blue eyes staring forward, while the principled Castle just threw you a nice smile. 

After a few moments, and while the elevator moved terribly slow, Glaz spoke up.  “So…you and Senaviev?”  Clicking your jaw, you take a sip of your black coffee, “It was a spur of the moment…don’t tell **_anyone_**.”

He hums, almost in understanding.  Just two more floors to go.  “I suppose that’s what he meant by having _one hell of a night_ ,” Castle said.

Choking, you start to cough, trying your best to ignore the smile on Glaz’s face.  The doors open now, Castle being the first to exit.  Just as Glaz was about to take his leave you hook your finger around the belt loop of his pants.  “Timur?” you called, and he stops to look at you. 

“Hmm?”

“What…what does _kotik_ mean?”

Slipping his fingers into his hairline to scratch, he responds with a titter in his voice.  “It means _pussycat_.”

Your cheeks tickle pink, Glaz patting your shoulder playfully before escorting you towards the breakfast area, and sluggishly you followed. 

Oddly enough, you were ready for another one of those _hands on_ study sessions.

**Author's Note:**

> Smut chapter is almost complete and will be added within the next few days.
> 
> Comments or Requests?
> 
> My Tumblr: http://tiktikaswang.tumblr.com/


End file.
